
Class 7^c^ 3 £0^ 
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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



gb&uUati 






SECOND EDITION 



912 Higgins Building 

lHoB A«9?l?0. (California 



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)CI.A427916 







Copyrighted 1916 

by 
Adolphe Danziger 



(Film Rights Reserved) 



Printed and Published 

by the 

Western Authors Publishing Association 

Los Angeles, California 



Ulrat iH btBt in tI|0H^ lintB 
Mrs, }pi)n?b^ A. ^mrBt 



APR 20 i9l6 



INDEX TO CONTENTS 

Foreword — . 5 

In the Garden of Abdullah 9 

"Mother" 23 

When the Work of Day Is Done 24 

Love That Never Fails 25 

Mother's Last Good Night 26 

The Masters of the Tower 29 

Sunrise in the Desert (Sonnet) 31 

The Yiddish Poet (Sonnet) 32 

Engaged (Sonnet) 33 

When (Sonnet) .' 34 

The Castle on the Lee (A Parable) 35 

The New Year 39 

Courage Is King 41 

Physiognomy 42 

The Loan 43 

The Strong 45 

The Call of Uncle Sam 46 

Your Face 48 

To My Lady 49 

My Lady's Eyes 50 

Inconstancy 51 

The Ass and the Sage 52 

Miracles Explained 53 

The Lily and the Rose (A Fable) 55 

After the Confession 58 

The Song of Songs 62 

The Mystery of Love 65 

Lyries 

Cupid Comes Stealing 69 

To a Rose 70 



Index to Contents, Contmued 

What Care 1 71 

Twilight - 72 

Is It Love? 73 

Ask Me Not 74 

One Kiss 75 

Gypsy Love 76 

When Thou Wert Wholly Mine 77 

As of Yore 78 

'T Made a Bed of Roses" 79 

Just a Flower 80 

Could I But Tell 81 

Bonne Nuit (Good Night) 82 

Rest 83 

La Danse Du Reve (The Dream Dance) 84 

Love's Dream 85 

The Words From Lips 86 

Leave Me Not 87 

The Flowers' Sorrow 88 

Love's Lullaby 89 

The King's Lament 90 

Anent the War 

Consolation 95 

Lest We Fall 96 

The Patient Turk 97 

The Days of Yore 100 

The Angels of Red Cross 105 

Miscellaney 

The Wisdom of Mirza-Shafify (Bodenstedt) 109 

King Solomon and the Bird 122 

The Passport - 123 



FOREWORD TO THE SECOND EDITION 



In the year Nineteen-hundred, while in Washing- 
ton, I showed Ambrose Bierce, who a decade before 
had revised my story THE MONK AND THE 
HANGMAN'S DAUGHTER, the manuscript of a 
number of poems I had written on diverse occasions. 
He pronounced them, as he had pronounced the 
story referred to, " good enough for publication". 

I did not offer the work to a publisher, because 
I had not sufficient confidence in myself as a poet. 
I looked upon my verses as a boy regards some stolen 
sweets which he hides lest he be found out and punished 
for his act. The English language being with me one 
acquired, I was keenly fearful of the critics' cry what 
I, a foreign Saul, was doing among the Prophets of 
English prosody. 

Three years later, while American consular repre- 
sentative at Madrid, Spain, an American happened 
to see that very manuscript of poems, and enthu- 
siastically declared that they ought to be published, 
and with a generosity that seemed to me then 
sublime, proposed to take the manuscript to Lon- 
don for publication. I consented, and that was the 
last I ever saw of that manuscript. Upon a fervent 
inquiry I received the laconic reply that the manu- 
script had been stolen, at one of the big hotels in 
the English metropolis. 

Instead of anger or sadness a certain joyous enthu- 
siasm came to my soul, for, said I to myself, if that 
thief, despising gems of price, which he could have 
taken from my putative literary benefactor, deemed 
them as dross by comparison with my poems, his 
act, though predatory, has shown me that I am a 
poet, and whatever be the taste of the thief, as some 
might sneeringly say, I had found one person who 
appreciates my worth. For his sake I would not 



destroy the Sodom and Gomorrah of my poetic activ- 
ity. Poor Socrates. He said, Gnosis auton (know 
thyself). He had much to learn. He neither knew 
the poets whom thieves by night called into con- 
sciousness of their high destiny, nor yon shrinking 
songsters who never know themselves until the 
cudgel in the rude hand of a burly critic knocks 
them into a consciousness of their unworth. In my 
case there was the angel Raphael (pronounced Raf- 
fles), who gave me the hint to gird my loins and 
prophesy to the Muses, and I obeyed. 

Re-writing from memory most of the verses and 
adding to them as I went along, for that is really 
very easy for the annointed Elijahs of poetry, I 
compiled another manuscript. 

This I read to an English publisher and so bam- 
boozled him with sweet words and promises of for- 
tune, that he, being of the gentle fraternity that 
drink wine out of authors' sculls, yielded to my 
siren suasion, published the volume and utterly dis- 
credited himself with his clan by paying me a hand- 
some royalty after the sales. 

A really fine English poet, seeing the cheque which 
I exhibited with great satisfaction in the Savage 
Club at London, looking rather pensively at the 
slip of paper, said, "Ah-er-I-say, old chap, wasn't it 
your-er-Abraham Lincoln-er-who said-er-that you 
cahnt-er-fool all the people-er-all the time?" 

"For once Abraham Lincoln was wrong, my dear 
fellow," I replied. "Your own Billy Shakespeare did 
it for nearly three hundred years, and it is nowhere 
recorded that a thief stole his poems in preference to 
jewels of great value." I was thinking of the incident 
that made me a poet and caused me to get the 
cheque. Wonderful, isn't it? 

In this, the second edition of those and other 
verses, an entirely different cause underlies their pub- 
lication, though I am not going to enter into all its 
details. The chances are that the reader, who cares, 



himself will discover them. I was thinking of those 
great poets who light the darkness of our nights 
with glowing star dust of their magic; who make 
the sunbeams dance a minuet to our fancy; who 
lull our senses to speechless calmitude, while our 
souls recline in the soft cushions of a chariot drawn 
by golden-shod horses through the empyrean, and, no 
matter what be their theme, produce in our hearts a 
desire to rise in harmony with the ineffably beautiful. 

Thinking of those glorious poets, it came to me 
that we ought to help this happy state along with 
all such powers as we possess, and if we cannot play 
the master symphony to enchant the world entire, 
we may at least play a tune at some bucolic enter- 
tainment and be glad in the thought that in our 
own humble way we have helped to make some crea- 
tures happy for the time being. 

Not being a great poet, I write verses for the satis- 
faction of the temporary impressions that breathe 
on the mirror of my mind, regardless of Philistine 
conceptions and those pious paragons with corro- 
gated foreheads who sit in judgment over literature 
and life, and who would call Christ before their tri- 
bunal, did He fail to meet their narrow standards. 

I dip my pen into the fount of lore of all ages, and 
wherever I find a gem the lustre of which ought to 
brighten the minds of others as it does my own, 
presto! I write, and as lustre is but a divergent 
degree of music, I invariably form my lines in meter 
and rhyme. There you have the secret. If, there- 
fore, I do not indulge in "inversions" or twist my 
mental lips to utter a thought, but click m}^ heels and 
whirl about in a sort of rhythmic Reigentanz, it is 
because I know not any different, and such amuse- 
ment as I can afford, you are kindly requested, dear 
reader, to accept in the spirit in which it is pre- 
sented. 

ADOLPHE DANZIGER. 



IN THE GARDEN OP ABDULLAH 

In the Garden of Abdullah 
(Sheikh and wisest of his people), 
In the center of the Garden, 
'Twixt a maze of thorny hedges. 
Stood a tree on which there ripen 'd 
Yearly but a single Peri, 
Lucent like the stime of Iris, 
And transporting by its fragrance. 

Of the Peri passed a legend 
(Sacred as the Prophet's symbol). 
That the seed came from the Peri 
Blest and planted by the Prophet ; 
That if eaten with devotion 
Healed the body of affliction, 
Gave the mind the vastest knowledge, 
And the soul its full perfection. 

Yearly when the Peri ripened. 
By the Sheikh away was taken 
And with prayer and genuflexion. 
Burned as offering to the Prophet, 
Till the time when Meli Rahvah, 
Sheikh Abdullah's growing daughter, 
Reach the age of maiden glory. 
She should eat the wonder Peri 



Nine 



Grown was Abdullah's daughter; ! 

Only child was Meli Rahvah, \ 

And was sweeter than the houris j 

In the Eden of the Prophet. ] 

She was destined for the Sultan, : 

When Abdulah had accomplished • 

His deferred and sacred journey ] 

To the holy town of Meccah. j 

And to guard his double treasure \ 

Sheikh Abdullah chose two watchmen ; 

From among his many servants; j 

One, a giant who was sightless, 1 

And a dwarfling, who was legless, : 
So that e'en if by their senses 

They were tempted them to pleasure, .? 
Ne'er could find their satisfaction. 

To his mind there came the story, l 

How the soul was called to answer \ 

For transgressions while indwelling 'j 

Mankind's earthly mortal body, 1 
And the soul spake thus to Allah: 

' Was not I in Thee begotten, i 

Allah's essence, pure and holy — | 

Can to evil yield the spirit? \ 



T«n 



' Is the eagle part of carion, 
Though it be on carion feeding; 
Is the Prophet as the camel, 
Though it bear the sacred burden? 
Were it not the bod3^'s cravings, 
Carion that for carion lusteth, 
I would never feel temptation, 
For the spirit never sinneth.' 

Then did Allah call the body 
To his dreadful throne of Justice, 
And the craven clay, appearing, 
Raised his sightless eyes to Allah ; 
Trembled when the voice accused him 
Of his lust and deeds of evil. 
Evil words that evil doubled 
On the path of degradation. 

And to Allah spake the body, 
Fearful yet himself defending, 
' Clay was I of thy creation. 
Unendowed for good or evil, 
Till the flesh, by spirit quicken 'd. 
Found in life its full direction : 
I was helpless and was guided, 
Blind Vv^as I, the soul but led me. ' 



Eleven 



'Twas for this that Sheikh Abdullah, 
Having gleaned a sacred lesson, 
Teaching that concerted action 
Lies in union of the senses, 
That he chose the halfling watchmen. 
Wise, indeed, was Sheikh Abdullah, 
For the action held a problem 
Scarcely able of solution. 

High upon a lofty scaffold, 
Overlooking all the garden, 
Sheikh Abdullah placed the dwarfling, 
And beneath, with mighty trumpet, 
Was the blinded giant Arab. 
Spake Abdullah to the dwarfling: 
''At intrusion, tell the blindman. 
Let him signal to the guardsmen". 

Having put his house in order, 
And his camel being ready 
For his pilgrimage to Meccah, 
Sheikh Abdullah kissed his daughter, 
Prayed the Prophet to protect her 
From the wily unbelievers. 
Who despised the Prophet's Chosen, 
Yet adored their lovely daughters. 



Twelve 



When Abdullah had departed, 
Meli Rahvah, then reclining 
On a divan in the garden, 
Gazed with tense and secret longing 
Through the rose-vine shaded arbor, 
At the roadway to the village, 
Where the hero of her fancy, 
Riding past, was wont to tarry. 

He was not a bearded Cahdi, 
Nor a chieftain of the Desert, 
Who in bondage held her fancy 
And her eyes to cloud with passion. 
He was Bogdan, Knight of Poland, 
Who had fought the Desert Arabs 
And the fiercer Saraceans, 
At the tombstone of the Master. 

He was mounted like a Titan, 
On a mighty coal-black Arab ; 
Eyes he had that matched the ocean 
Deeply blue and all-defiant, 
And his hair was long and wavy. 
Seeming as if spun of amber, 
Which the sunlight showed in dancing. 
Mischief -making, wonder ringlets. 



Thirteen 



Meli Eahvah gazed with longing, 
Through the iron-grated arbor. 
There were peasants with their donkeys, 
Women tattled with their neighbors; 
Children shouted at the Mufti, 
And a Dervish, too, was passing, 
But the lover she expected 
Did not come to still her longing. 

And anon a voice was speaking, 

Speaking softly at the arbor ; 

"I have donned this Dervish garment 

That I may, with none to hinder. 

Worship thus thy matchless beauty. 

"Come with me," the voice implored her 

Meli Rahvah's body trembled. 

And her eyes with pleasure glinted. 

Seeming calmly she responded: 
''Gladly would I do thy bidding. 
But the portals and the garden 
Both, are fended from intrusion. 
E'en within are watchmen stationed. 
Two are they, and though but hafiings — 
One is blind, the other legless — 
Yet combined may halt intruders." 



Fourteen 



** Speak, maiden," cried the Templar, 
''And my sword shall give thee freedom, 
Though an army of the Sultan 
Barred the entrance to the garden. 
Love lends courage to a craven, 
How much more to Templar Bogdan, 
Fighting for his Meli Rahvah; 
But command, my sword is ready. ' ' 

''Nay, my lord," said Meli Rahvah, 
"Though I love thee well and truly, 
Yet disdain I forceful measures. 
Gently treated love is yielding; 
wit may win where passion faileth. 
Solve the problem of Abdullah, 
And the halflings take the Peri, 
Thou shalt come and freely take me." 

Far beyond the reach of hearing, 
On the scaffold lay the dwarfling, 
Eyes enraptured at the vision 
Of the Iris-color 'd Peri, 
And beneath him sat the giant, 
Chest extended, nostrils flying. 
Ravished by the wafted fragrance 
From the ripening, luscious Peri. 



Fifteen 



Thither hied him Templar Bogdan, 
Treading lightly as a spirit; 
And anon he heard the voices 
Of the haflings in the garden, 
Speaking of the sacred Peri. 
And the olden holy legend 
That the Peri youth eternal 
And perfection gave to creatures. 

"Eat the Peri", said the Templar 
In a whisper, like an Angel, 
Giving mortals Allah's message. 
''Eat the fruit that ripens yonder, 
And ye be as perfect creatures. 
Thou, the sightless, shall be seeing ; 
Thou, the legless, shall be walking. 
Both combined, shall thus be perfect 

"Great is Allah and Mohammed 
Is his Prophet," cried the dwarfling, 
" 'Tis the spirit of the Prophet 
Telling us to eat the Peri". 
But the blinded giant answered : 
"Were it certain our salvation. 
Never could we reach the fruit tree; 
I am blind and thou art legless. ' ' 



) > 



Said the Templar, ''When the sightless 
Bear the seeing, there is union". 
Then the halfiings cried with gladness. 
Cried with gladness in the mazes; 
Sought and found the sacred Peri, 
While the eager Templar Bogdan 
Vaulted lightly o'er the paling 
To the gentle Meli Rahvah. 

With amazement Meli Eahvah 
Saw the halflings take the Peri, 
And as Bogdan now was kneeling 
At her feet with love and laughter, 
Meli Rahvah bent and kissed him. 
"Thou hast taught me, love may conquer 
E'en the wit of Sheikh Abdullah," 
Sweetly smiling, said the maiden. 

Warm were yet her tender kisses 
On the lips of Templar Bogdan, 
When before them stood Abdullah, 
With his features wrath distorted, 
That his daughter gave caresses 
To a Christian unbeliever. 
Laden with the curse of Allah 
And disdained by all the Faithful. 



Seventeen 



And the Knight was soon surrounded 
By a ring of glinting weapons 
In the hands of vengeful Arabs, 
Glad to shed the blood of Christians. 
Quickly flashed the sword of Ragdan, 
To defend his Meli Eahvah; 
But the maiden, with a gesture, 
Bade her lover sheathe his weapon. 

Sheikh Abdullah saw the gesture, 
Saw the f?esture and expression, 
And the flame of ang-er hisrher 
Rose asrainst his daue-hter's lover; 
And, to feed his indignation. 
Came the steward of the household, 
Shoutiner that the fruit was stolen, 
Stolen by the halfling watchmen. 

Consternation seized Abdullah, 
Then in thought he bided silent. 
While his features slowly softened. 
And he murfured, ''Great is Allah; 
Humbled am I in my wisdom ; 
Safe I thought my house and garden. 
Yet my daughter loves a Christian, 
And the halflings stole the Peri". 



Blffht««n 



Said the maiden to her father: 
"Matchless was thy choice of watchmen, 
Seeming safety in their weakness; 
Helples one without the other; 
Yet a mortal so inspired them, 
That they reached the sacred Peri, 
And a wit that could effect it, 
Is divine and hath my worship ' '. 

Sheikh Abdullah's pride was kindled 
At the words of Meli Rahvah. 
' * Truly hast thou spoken, daughter ; 
One is clay without the eyesight, 
Sight is sateless for enjoyment, 
And the problem I propounded 
Needed Allah for solution — 
Yet it seems a mortal solved it". 

' ' May it please thee, ' ' spake Sir Bogdan, 

'*It was I who solved the problem. 

Gently urged by Meli Rahvah, 

For whose love I braved thine anger, 

And the grandeur of thy wisdom ; 

Joining what thy wit divided, 

I but told the blinded giant 

Take the dwarfling on his shoulder. 



Nineteen 



"Thus in union of their senses, 
One in action, found fulfillment 
In their longing for the Peri, 
Symbol of the body's craving — 
Yet the passions are eternal, 
As eternal as the spirit; 
And the spirit seeks the substance. 
As the substance needs the spirit. 

''And when hearts are thus united 
In the love the Lord created. 
Let nor wit nor law divide them, 
Lest there be a world of halflings, 
Ever pining and desiring, 
And no gentle hand to help them. 
E'en as yonder hapless watchmen 
Thou didst set to guard the Peri. 

"Man is halfling without friendship. 
To sustain his waning courage ; 
Joy is halfling without sorrow, 
Finely fibred to enhance it, 
Grief is e'er a double burden 
If unshared by friend's affection, 
And the soul but dwells in darkness 
When it lacks love's hallowed sweetness. 



Twenty 



"Thou wilt say that I, a Christian, 
Dared to love thy gentle daughter; 
And I answer, we were halflings, 
Till united by a spirit, 
Knowing neither creed nor station, 
But the simple law of nature, 
Which the fancy of the Prophet 
Once had called the Tree of Knowledge' 

Spake Abdullar to the Arabs : 

' ' Down your arms and yield obeisance 

To this noble man of wisdom. 

If himself he name a Christian, 

I respect him as a Moslem, 

Whom the Prophet, too, would honor". 

Then to Bogdan spake Abdullah, 

Bowing as before the Sultan : 

"Lord, I long thy love suspected 
For my daughter Meli Ralivah, 
And her own forbidden secret 
Was to me revealed and open ; 
'Twas against religious usage; 
Yet I loved my daughter dearly, 
And I planned to show her error, 
Yielding to a Christian's passions. 



Twenty-one 



''But thy words have shown thy greatness. 
And my daughter, Meli Kahvah, 
Wisely chose her mundane master- 
Master, since he saw the symbol 
Of the Peri and the halflings. 
Now, that love and truth united 
Two of alien creed and races, 
Take ye, too, Abdullah's blessing." 



Tw«nty-two 



'^MOTHER'' 

The dearest name on earth, 
The name of matchless worth 
Is Mother ! 

My heart is rapture bound 
When I but hear the sound 
Of Mother. 

And poets' noblest song 
In ev'ry land and tongue 
Is Mother. 

Yet speech cannot explain 
This word, so deep, if plain, 

Of Mother. 
No grief or sin can kill 
Her love — she weeps, yet still 

Is Mother. 
All love, how fierce it burn, 
In time to ashes turn 

Save Mother. 
Our speech can say no more ; 
We know but to adore 

You, Mother. 



Twenty-thr«e 



WHEN THE WORK OF DAY IS DONE 

When the work of day is done, 

In the dusk, a vision clear 
Rises on my sight of one 

Ever loved and ever dear. 

She, my queenly mother, stands 

Sadly gazing at the place 
Once my own and wrings her hands, 

Finding naught but empty space. 

Mother heart, that prays and sighs, 
Shedding scalding tears that fall 

Orient as pearls, that rise 
Up to God in anguished call. 

Thus I see thee, saintly one. 

Ever loved and ever dear, 
Daily, when my work is done, 

And my homage is a tear. 



Twenty-four 



LOVE THAT NEVER FAILS 

Long, long ago, when I was young, 

A youth his friendship to me swore ; 
He vowed to aid me all life long, 

Though ev'ry one me hatred bore. 
There came a day — it comes to all — 

We need a friend, a kindly thought — 
I called the friend — in vain the call, 

I never found the friend I sought. 

When I was young and fair and strong. 

My love-lit soul in rapture soared ; 
I sang to her my sweetest song. 

For I found love where I adored. 
But e'en the words that gently flow 

From honeyed lips and each caress 
May soon to dead'ning ashes grow 

Beneath the hidden faithlessness. 

I well recall the time, so long. 

The wide, wide world I sought to roam ; 
I asked no vow of faith among 

The dear ones whom I left at home. 
And yet, as years were passing on 

And I became by grief assailed, 
It was by your sweet love I won, 

O Mother Love that never failed. 



Twenty-flve 



MOTHER ^S LAST GOOD-NIGHT \ 
(A Reminiscence) 

I'll kiss thee now, my mother said, J 

At dawn of day thou must away ; . 
Good night, my son ; now go to bed. 

I see her now, as here I write, • 

Her noble face, showed not a trace 

Of anguish as she said Good-Night. j 

Yet deep in those her love-lit eyes 

A moment brief betrayed her grief, 

But quickly waned as lightning dies. : 

My saintly mother planned a goal , 

Where, after strife, my later life 

Should show the world a chastened soul. ] 

i 

I failed to grasp her noble thought, \ 

And when she went I quickly sent j 

My mind to dream, and dreaming, wrought. \ 



Twenty-ilx \ 



Great deeds that rang from land to land ; 
Renown and gold I gained untold, 
And ruled the world with mighty hand. 

And so my childish fancy spun 
A golden spell, until the knell 
Of midnight, striking one by one, 

Proclaimed the spirit hour. I knew 
And thrilled with fear lest ghosts appear, 
Yet, fearing, wished they would come, too. 

And lo ! Within the door there stood 
A form in white that held a light 
It was a spirit but — of good. 

It was my mother dear, who had. 

No heart for sleep and fain would peep, 

Once more on her departing lad. 



Tw«nty-Beven 



She looked and then with gentle tread 

Came near to me, but instantly 

I slumber feigned, with shame 'tis said. 

And then a tear did fall upon 

My burning brow. Embrace her now, 

Said Love ; but Fear said, slumber on. 

And when my mother went away 
I glowed with heat at my deceit 
And fancy then resumed its play. 

Since then, alas, 'tis sad to scan 
Each rocky road and heavy load 
That made of me a sadder man. 

Though time has gone I none the less 
Can feel again, like gentle rain, 
Thy tears, thy last divine caress. 



Twenty-eight j 



THE MASTERS OP THE TOWER 

(The Tower of Chateau-Renault, Touraine) 

What bouts they held on yonder heights 

When Barons were in power; 
How they caroused the long live nights 

Behind the '' donjon" tower. 

Strange sights my wond'ring eyes have met 

Between each rotting rafter ; 
Meseemed I saw the Barons yet 

And heard their drunken laughter. 

They laughed at Henry, king of France, 

And never asked his pleasure ; 
By saber cut and thrust of lance 

They gathered in their treasure. 

'Twas idle ever to complain. 
For kings they were in power; 

They called them Masters of Touraine, 
The Masters of the Tower. 



Twenty-nine 



The robber Barons now are dust, i 

Their names live but in story ; I 

Their iron shields are thick with rust, j 

And ashes is their glory. { 

A ruin now the tower stands, '\ 

A frowning feudal token; j 

A giant whom the head and hands, { 

The soul and heart are broken. ] 

And ravens raise their mocking call 

From out their gloomy bower : 
We are the Barons of this hall, 

The Masters of the Tower. 



Thirty 



SUNRISE IN THE DESERT 

Half-dreaming on the desert 's edge I lay, 
And watched the sun with tender touch caress 
The sleeping palm to smiling wakefulness, 
And dow'r with golden tongues the fragrant bay 
Night spirits stole to crannied depths away. 
And distant mountains, clad in gloomy dress 
Of seething vapors from the wilderness. 
Raised flaming heads to greet triumphant Day. 

Low moaned the conquered spirit of the Night, 
And rushed to where the desert demon slept ; 
With boding force Simoom arose to fight 
The nascent day, by Allah blest, and leapt 
In rolling clouds of awesome wrath that swept 
The sky; but Allah spake: ''Let there be light!" 



Thlrty-on« 



THE YIDDISH POET j 

How resonant the wonder measures flow, | 

Despite the crudeness of the homeless tongue ^ 

In which is cast the rare and lofty song, j 

Wherein thy people's joys and sorrows glow. I 
But who reflects what soil lets roses blow, 

What pow'r endows the mighty eagle's wings, ; 

Or how the lark is miened, but how he sings : \ 
'Tis scent and flight and song that grace bestow. 

Do timid creatures analyze their fears? 

In joy, who frays the tissue of his smile ? ', 

Do weeping hearts think what composes tears ? 

So I reck not nor probe thy Jargon 's style ; \ 

I know but that thy songs my heart beguile, - 

And this alone thy work to me endears. ! 



Thirty-two 



ENGAGED 

As like unto a sail, by storms untried, 
That blithely breasts itself to wind and gale 
And, sinews vibrant, greets with gladsome hail 
The sceptered sea-god in his onward ride. 
Is woman's boding joy; 'tis like the bride 
Betrothed to yonder mast with whose travail 
It sighs and weeps, until the ocean's rail 
Is stilled, then nestles coyly at his side. 

And thus, mast and sail, you are engaged 
To marry when the ship shall reach its goal, 
And, anchor bound, forget that storms have 

raged ; 
That perils lurked above the hidden shoal; 
For now love's battles only may be waged 
So that the victor take love's willing toll. 



Thirty-three 



WHEN! ■ 

i 
This life ends not with its decline on earth, | 

This hope I have to cherish till the day ] 

When God shall call my captive soul away \ 

To where the truth, in grand, majestic worth, ; 

Revealed shall stand ; and I, without the clay | 

That feeds on lies and tears and sinful mirth, '^ 

Account that I reckt not beyond the birth 
Of fleeting joy that rang in mundane lay. 

How shall the clay its erring acts defend, ! 

The soul the guilt of its assent explain, ; 

Were both on rigid justice to depend ? \ 

Did not the Father 's love efface the stain j 
Of earthly deeds and to my conscience lend 

A faith in which I can my hope sustain. I 



Thirty-four 



THE CASTLE ON THE LEE 

(A Parable) 

A man there was and rich was he, 
As rich a man as man could be. 
He ruled all men as like a god, 
And each obeyed his slightest nod, 
And like a good he wished to dwell 
Above the lot whose life is hell. 
By fancy lured, he raised his head. 
And to his own proud self he said : 

/ am a multimillionaire, 
I'll huild a castle in the air, 
A mighty fort upon a lee. 
Above the forest, hill and sea. 
I'll soar as ^nighty eagles, clear 
Above the earth, and laugh at fear 
That grips the human worms beloiv 
As thunders roll and tempests blow. 

I shall defy the crash and shock 
M^ithin my house of granite rock. 

The backs of thousand slaves were bent 
'Neath heavy loads, and rocks were rent 
And marble cut to perfect art 
To lend a grace to ev'ry part. 
With gardens of a magic spell, 
Wherein Olypian gods might dwell. 
Until there stood quite firm and fair 
The castle of the millionaire. 



Thirty-five 



A turret room, octagonal, 
Rose high above the lordly hall. 
The windows were of gems whose sheen 
Did magnify the outer scene. 
Thus passed in panoramic view 
The son of toil, at work with thew, 
To force the patient mother field 
The food for man and beast to yield. 

He heard the shepherd's call, the barks 

Of docile dogs and songs of larks. 

He saw the mountains, capped with snow 

Lambent in new born daylight glow. 

He heard the sighs of lives in gloom, 

He saw the toilers at the loom. 

Bereft of hope, bereft of joy, 

A rag of life — the Reaper's toy. 

He saw the children fall with irk 
In soul and body killing work. 
And tender girls, whom cruel greed 
Condemned a leprous race to breed. 
He heard the groans, he heard the sobs, 
He saw the ragged, hungry mobs. 
He heard their cry for work and bread, 
He saw the slaughter and the dead — 



Thirty-six 



Hfe heard it all and saw it all 

From yonder lofty turret hall. 

And thrice he laughed in boundless mirth. 

What Miss, he said, to see the earth 

From this secure and lofty height. 

Behold, it whets my appetite 

To see again the earthly pest, 

I'll doubly nou) enjoy my rest. 

And as the moments came and went, 
He felt exceedingly content. 

And, gazing at the sky, he saw 
What seemed a speck, a little flaw, 
The matchless, perfect blue contained, 
That soon, like forces held enchained 
And loosened, leapt, grew black and 

low'r'd 
With boding wrath, then rolled and 

roared. 
The ocean heaved, convulsed with pain, 
His foamy head again, again. 

Was crashed against the rocky wall, 
Despairful moanings in its fall. 
And on the furies sprang or crept 
Then at the trembling forest leapt. 
The leaves in murmurs told their dread 
The trees bent low, the furies sped 
Away through forest hill and dale 
With gruesome havoc in their trail. 



Thirty-seven 



The millionaire contently thought, 
The house is strong my slaves have 

ivrought, 
I can defy the crash and shock 
Within my house of granite rock. 
His pride was just, his house was good, 
The storm's attack it quite withstood. 
And proudly then he raised his head 
And thus defiantly he said : 

./ hold the mighty magic rod, 
I fear no man, I fear no god, 
I laugh at both and them I mock 
Within my house of gramite rock. 

An earthquake came and wrenched the lee, 
The granite house feel in the sea. 
It took the castle from the air 
And also took the millionaire. 



Thirty-eight 



THE NEW YEAR 

New Year, what wilt thou bring 
To those whose hearts desire, 
To those whose souls aspire ? 
This is onr questioning. 

"We feebly see the styme 
That tells the light of day ; 
The part we are to play 
Is known to far flung time. 

And so we breathe our prayer : 
That love be ours and health, 
And with them also wealth — 
Enough and some to spare. 

For, both, my love and I, 
Are keen for others' weal, 
And never let appeal 
Unanswered pass us by. 



Thirty-nine 



Forty 



We love each other so, 
That we would gladly give 
To those who loveless live, 
The good we can bestow. 

Life's aim should be to rise 
Untrammeled as the dove; 
To teach the miser, love, 
The spendthrift, to be wise. 

'Twere bliss and life a prayer, 
If joined to love and health, 
We had sufficient wealth 
That all the poor might share. 

'Tis thus to hope we cling. 
And wish and pray and fear; 
If but our wish, New Year, 
Thou wouldst fulfillment bring. 



COURAGE IS KING 

A new Year's Toast 

To friends we have made, and plans we have laid, 
If noble the thought that laid them, 
No failure or fear can touch us this year, 
For friends are true if — we made them. 

So up with a cheer to the passed old year, 
And hail with delight the new one; 
Let bravely us sing, for Courage is King, 
And stick to a friend — a true one. 



Forty-one 



PHYSIOGNOIMY 

In ev'ry face, ] 

The soul you trace, 1 

The hidden secret mystery ; ; 

The thought concealed, j 

Is there revealed, | 

And e'en the human history. • 

But few have skill, 

To read at will, i 

What nature writes so plainly ; j 

And thus 'tis said, | 

Not being read, j 

She often writes but vainly. I 



Forty-two 



THE LOAN 

(A Parable) 

A man there was who left his land 
To build his tent on alien soil, 

And wrest from Fate with honest hand 
The toll she yields to earnest toil. 

And by his side, for weal or woe, 
There was his wife, who to the tent 

A jewel brought of wondrous glow, 
That One to her had kindly lent. 

The jewel filled the tent with light, 
A light, that by its glow did bless 

The One who made their life so bright. 
And touched all hearts with tenderness. 

As He, the lender, asked not them 
To yield at once the precious loan, 

The happy mortals thought the gem 
Forever would remain their own. 



Forty-three 



Alas! there soon arrived a day, 

When cruel fate dealt them a blow; 

The Owner came and took away 

The light that caused the gem to glow. 

The humble dwellers, crushed, bereft, 
Were grieved to face a lifeless toy 

That lay inert, and had been left, 
It seemed, to mock their former joy. 

While yet in grief there sat the twain, 
A light of knowledge came to them, 

That He, who gave, can give again. 
And He may lend another gem. 

For all things have their purposed goal, 
And living eyes shall learn to see 

The aims of each predestined soul, 
That love may live in memory. 



Forty-four 



THE STRONG 

And yet withal, the world loves not a fool; 
'Tis he, who fiercely fights with might and 
main, 
That wins the day ; the brave w^ill live ; the rule 
Holds good for man and beast; the w^eak are 
slain 
To give the strong their boding force to try 
Full use of life ; the quick will live, the slow must 
die. 

So great is courage's pow'r, that e'en the eyes 
Of love, that much forgive, a craven heart. 

That beats with fear and halts, will soon despise. 
For love loves courage as the chiefest part. 

And courage wins when whining cowards fail. 

As winds serve best a full resisting sail. 

So loved are the strong, that e'en the Crucified 
Holds forth to them His pierced and bleeding 
hand. 
And says : In agony and death I 've tried 

To teach, that strength is God's supreme com- 
mand; 
For they who suffer much and suffer long, 
Though weak in flesh, remain in spirit strong 



Forty-flve 



THE CALL OF UNCLE SAM 

I am calling, yes, I'm calling- 
Labor loving to this land; 

I am ready for the falling 

"With a strong and helping hand. 

I have lands in ev'ry county, 
Cozy homes in ev'ry State; 

And I yield a stintless bounty 
All who rise above their Fate. 

In my land the strong may stumble, 
And the highest flyer drop ; 

While a fellow, meek and humble, 
Climbs as quickly to the top. 

In this land of never, never- 
Failing opportunity, 

There is profit for the clever. 
And enjoyment for the free. 



Forty-six i 

,! 



There be toilers in the trenches, 
Earning bread the meaner way ; 

While the workers at the benches 
Technique wonders bring to play. 

There be plowers and the seeders 
On the mighty western plain ; 

There be planters and the breeders, 
And the seas of amber grain. 

There be metal-getting miners 
For the Nation's golden dome; 

And the sweet and gentle shriners 
Building altars in the home. 

I am calling, firm, yet tender, 

To the sad in ev'ry land. 
Willing, like a man, to render 

Service and a helping hand. 



Forty-seven 



YOUR FACE 

An Angel lower 'd 
To paint thy face, 
And on it poured 
A limpid grace 
To be adored. 



Forty-eight 



TO MY LADY 

No crown can sweeter graces 
Thy womanhood impart, 
For, written on thy face, is 
A noble mind and heart. 



Forty-nine 



MY LADY'S EYES 

My lady's eyes, the rarest eyes, 
My pen in vain to limn them tries, 
For light with light in them vies 
And archly all my art defies. 

They seem at times intensely blue, 
The kind that men believe are true, 
A sort of firmamental hue, 
When gods the Way with stars bestrew. 

I look again and find them grey, 
With steely strength that holds at bay 
The fierce desire, that men display, 
When beauty potent is to sway. 

My lady's eyes are things apart. 
For as I press her to my heart. 
Her eyes send forth an amber dart 
That trills me like some mystic art. 



Fifty 



INCONSTANCY 

Woman doomed to constant fretting 

For a lover far away 
Falls a victim to — forgetting 

When another comes to stay. 



Fifty-one 



THE ASS AND THE SAGE 

(Experiencia docet) 

An Ass there was, a Sage bestrode 
To seek a hidden treasure; 

The Ass, he sighed beneath the load, 
And ambled on at leisure. 

The Sage, he thought the Ass a lout, 

Too lazy for his riding; 
He then began abuse to shout 

And gave the Ass a hiding. 

At this the Ass indignant grew 
At him, a Sage, who'd act thus, 

And at a certain spot he threw 
The Sage into the Cactus. 

And pulling pins from — where he sat — 
He said, ''Experience teaches. 

When riding, you an Ass would swat. 
Just wear your leather breeches. ' ' 



Fifty-two 



• MIRACLES EXPLAINED 

(To a Female Critic of a Man's Morals) 

I am not wise, I am not good, 

I'm but a simple creature; 

Yet have I seen a wonder done : 

A Goose became a Preacher. 

In scathing terms the Goose held forth 

To show, the path was risky 

The gay man trod, because he loved 

Some women, plays and whisky. 

The female congregation thought 
The Goose divine at teaching 
The frisky man a lesson hard 
And gloried in the preaching. 
Thus history repeated was 
As 'twill repeat forever; 
A silly goose once saved old Rome 
And Romans thought her clever. 

To pay the Goose, the wondrous one, 

They gratefully did stuff it; 

But wonders happened in those days : 

An Ass rebuked a Prophet. 

Yet neither point is very clear 

And reason here must tackle : 

What caused the Prophet's Ass to talk? 

What caused the Goose to cackle ? 



Fifty three 



But logic guides the mind perplexed, | 

The cause is soon detected: \ 

The Gander played with other geese, j 

To which the Goose objected. | 

Similibus, I now infer : ] 

The Ass refused the buffet, j 

Because the Prophet rode the Ass ; 

And not the Ass the Prophet. ] 



Fifty-four 



THE LILY AND THE ROSE 

(A FaUe) 

When God had willed this world to be, 
He smiled, and lo, His very face 

Enflamed a scene of symmetry. 

Of beauty, love and matchless grace. 

And dulcet sounds from flowers rang 
Wherein the gentle zephyrs played, 

While love its sweetest cadence sang 
In all the Master Mind had made. 

As night had fallen on the scene. 
The lily — glowing deeply red, 

The rose, that gleamed in white serene. 
With fervent speech did woo, and said 

Oh, rose, fair rose, I pray, incline 
Thine ear and harken to my plea, 

Behold, my heart with love ferine 
Is burning, fairest rose, for thee. 



Flfty-flv« 



The rose then said: I can't return 

Thy passion, for the Lord above . •* 

No blood infused my veins to burn 
With fierce desire ; I can not love. 

At this the lily's passion grew 

Yet more intense, her heart would break 
If love came not to save, she knew, 

And sighed. At length she smiled and spake 

Fair rose of love, do not despair. 

The Lord in wisdom did ordain 
That I my blood with thee shall share 

And share with thee all bliss and pain. 

The rose then smiled with silent scorn, 

Prepared to play a hateful part; 
She forthwith sent her sharpest thorn 

To pierce the loving lily's heart. 



Fifty-six 



The lily's blood flowed all the night 
Upon the rose's face and head, 

And morning found the lily white, 
The rose a deep and vivid red. 

And when the rose was thus arrayed 
In carmined dress of rarest hue. 

And gems wherein the sunbeams played, 
A Fairy gave her fragrance, too. 

But since the rose did not repent, 
But gloried at her suitor's woe. 

The Lord imposed a punishment 

That she on thorny stalks should grow. 



Fifty-seven 



AFTER THE CONFESSION 



I oft forget religious feasts j 

In culling love's sweet roses. 1 

Alike to me are Church and Creed j 

Of Christ or that of Moses. ] 

\ 

For both proclaim that thou shalt love i 

Thy neighbor with affection. : 
And I, in sooth, have never failed 

To give him my protection. ; 

To love a neighbor as thyself, 

Is sweet, and well and human, i 

But one can more intensely love ] 

A neighbor who's a Woman. i 

Not long ago my neighbor was ^ 

A maid of Jewish fashion, 

Who taught me the Mosaic laws 

With oriental passion. : 



Fifty-eight 



She's married now, her husband is 
A portly Jewish brother, 
But neighbor love, that gentle law, 
I practise with another. 

For now my neighbor is a maid 
The Church "of Rome professes. 
Her eyes are like the ocean's depth, 
Like amber are her tresses. 

I love Marie and love her faith, 
Which was for comfort given. 
For one may sin and tell the Priest 
And soon be wholly shriven. 

But people do not always tell 
Of all the sins committed, 
A tiny sinlet here and there 
Is now and then omitted. 



Ftfty»nln« 



It was not always thus, in Rome j 

The penitents did spinning, j 
Today one gives the Church her pence 

And gladly goes on sinning. • 

But cease this thought, my neighbor I 

fair, ; 

On whom my love now centers, ] 

Anon, like incarnated rhythm, j 

My lonely chamber enters. 

' What bodes this look, ' ' to her I say, 
'This highly wrought expression?" 
' This is, ' ' she answers, ' ' Easter week, 
And I have made confession." 

'Didst tell the Priest," I cry, "how oft \ 

My breast thy bosom crushes I 

Until thine alabaster neck | 

Is dyed with crimson blushes? j 



Sixty 



Didst tell"— ''Now hush," she calmly 

says, 
''To practise virtue better, 
I Ve told the Priest of ev 'ry sin, 
Aye, to the very letter. 

"I am a better Christian now, 
No sin my soul distresses, 
'Tis sweet, my dear, to be absolved 
When one but full confesses." 

' 'Tis truth, delightedly I cry, 
'The mind is dull that misses 
To note the change — I know, Marie, 
I feel it in — thy kisses. 

For only one as pure as thou 
Can laugh such saintly laughter, 
Marie, my dear, confess again, 
Thy love is sweeter after." 



Sixty-one 



THE SONG OF SONGS 
{Das Hoke Lied-Heine) 

A woman, is a poem grand 
That God, by genius smitten, 

With graceful touch and master hand. 
In Nature's book has written. 

He chose the moment well enough 

To form his inspiration, 
And made of that rebellious stuff 

An excellent creation. 

In sooth, a woman 's body far 

Surpasses all romances; 
Her limbs, so white and plastic, are 

The most poetic stanzas. 

How well the gracious Poet wrought 
The neck — he curved so finely — 

And on it poised the central thought — 
The curly head, divinely. 



sixty -two 



The billowed breasts, with rosebuds done, 

Are epigrams in measure ; 
The metric space between each one 

Affords enchanting pleasure. 

The Poet's plastic art reveals 
Each hip which full of grace is ; 

The mystic Ode the leaf conceals, 
A noble Law embraces. 

No fanciful conception this, 
But flesh and blood that hisses 

With passion, speech, and lips that kiss 
In rhymed and metric kisses. 

Here rings the truest poetry 
With grace in each inflection. 
And on its face indelibly 
Is stamped divine perfection. 



Sixty-three 



I praise Thee, Lord, as praise I must, 

And all the world shall know it, 
Compared with Thee we're bungling dust, 

0, matchless, heavenly Poet. 

i 

I ponder deeply ev'ry way 1 

Thy work of plastic beauty. 
And tireless am by night and day 

In this divinest duty. 

i 

And sweet it is to revel in \ 

Thy work with soul and body, ] 

Though, Lord, I'm growing pale and thin "j 

From overzealous study. j 



Sixty-four 



THE MYSTERY OF LOVE 

Seek not love's magic to explain, 

Nor try its arts to analyze; 
Thou 'It find thy labor all in vain ; 

Love is no thesis for the wise. 
For Love is Love and nothing less 

Nor more; nor ever seeks a ^'how" 
Or 'Svhy"; it crowns with tenderness 

The Monarch's as the Peasant's brow. 

To logic Love can give no place, 

Since Love at Reason laughs; 'tis bold 
To say, that Folly young has grace 

Far sweeter than a Sage who's old. 
Nor does it yield to stern commands 

Of Law; nor heeds the call of wealth. 
It roams like errant Gypsy bands 

And works its chosen way by stealth. 

It lives on what it feels is wrought, 

As bees upon the flowers live. 
And passes oft in gladsome thought 

Its honey other lips to give. 
And Love divine, though old, stays young 

Eternal, whitewinged as the dove, 
And bright as stars in high heaven hung, 

With Cupid peeping from above. 



SIxty-flv« 



^^ruB 



CUPID COMES STEALING 

Cupid comes stealing, 
A thief in the night, 

Deftly concealing, 

His arrows from sight . 

Treading quite lightly, 
Love passes the heart ; 

Cupid draws tightly 
And speedeth his dart. 

Mortally wounded. 

Love weepeth with pain; 
Cupid, unbounded. 

But laughs at the slain. 

He mocketh love's play 
Till the rise of the sun, 

And flieth away 
When the mischief is done. 



sixty-nine 



TO A ROSE 

Rose, divine in thy red array, 

Thy lustrous face with love a-light; 
Benign and fair as sun-lit day, 
Enchanting as the star-lit night. 

1 knew thee in a better life, 

Where death was not nor v/as decay, 
And peace, unmarred by human strife, 
Sublimely made the perfect way. 

Until the mystic Voice divine 

Ordained my soul to mortal 's doom, 

And thee, 0, sister soul of mine, 
A hued and fragrant rose to bloom. 

I found thee in thy red array. 

Thy fragrant heart with gems bedight, 

I love thee as the light of day, 
I love thee as the starlit night. 



Seventy 



WHAT CARE I 

What care I that shadows darken the ridge, 
Or billows my bark may wantonly toss ; 

What care I if weak or broken the bridge 
Until there has come the moment to cross. 

What care I that Age will find me at length, 
My body desires no longer shall crave, 

If I am to-day a lion in strength, 
And joyously fight the fight of the brave. 

And loving my love, as fully I do, 

I reck not the day of parting and pain ; 

I'm happy to-day, love, happy with you, 
And thoughts of tomorrow call me in vain. 



Seventy-one 



TWILIGHT 

Behold, how bits of rose and blue, 

In fancifully blended hue. 

Are fading into lambent air 

That glints upon the sea ; and tliere, 

The heaving, ever-changing light, 

Is rocked to Avait the coming night. 

The sea devours the day. 

As light is swept away, 

Despairing voices call; 

The darksome shadows fall 

Upon the world of light, 

And then, farewell, good-night! 



Seventy-two 



IS IT LOVE? 

Why are thine eyes cast down sweet maid, 
Why are thy cheeks so rosy red? 
Why are thy hands on bosom laid, 
Why bowest thou thy gentle head? 

Is it love? O, maiden speak! 

Is it love, the love T seek? 

Why doth my heart in rapture beat 
When thou art nigh, when thou art nis^h ? 
Why do I tremble when we meet ? 
I fain would speak, yet can ])ut sigh ! 

Is it love ? 0, maiden speak ! 

Is it love, the love I seek? 

Adoring, at thy feet I kneel. 
And ask no more if love it be ; 
The sweet, exquisite pain I feel 
Has solved the sacred mystery. 

Love, sweet love, my heart doth speak ; 

Tis the love, the love I seek ! 



Seventy-three 



ASK ME NOT 

Ask me not why thus I love you, 
Why my heart so pines for you ; 
Ask the roses why they wither 
"Without sunshine, without dew. 

See that e'en the poorest sunflow'r, 
Knowing where to find her bliss, 
Turns her face bedecked with dewdrops 
To the sunlight for a kiss. 

Dear, I know but that I love you 
More than roses love the dew; 
More than sunflow'rs long for daylight. 
Do I, dearest, long for you. 



Seventy four 



ONE KISS 

(To Georgina) 

Had I a thousand years to live 
And one in which to call you mine, 

I'd gladly choose the one and give 
Away nine hundred ninety-nine. 

That year I'd use to drink in sips 
Nine hundred ninety-nine of bliss, 

And, hanging on your honeyed lips, 
I 'd kiss a year one single kiss. 



Sevenly-five 



GYPSY LOVE 

Would 'st win my love, then kiss to blood my lips ; 

Tear shred by shred my garb: with mad im- 
press, 
A bear like, rend and claw my quiv'ring flesh, 

Destroy my last defense to thy caress. 

When crushed I lie beneath thy grasp and spent, 
My love is won, I then obey thy nod 

And, crawling at thy feet, thou master man, 
I worship thee, my conqueror, my god. 



Seventy-six 



WHEN THOU WERT WHOLLY MINE 

Some day, when twilight shadows fall 

On paths that love with light endow 'rs, 
Thou wilt with longing heart recall 
The thrilling bliss of those sweet hours 
When thou wert wholly mine 
Dear love, and I was thine. 

x\nd then, beloved, thou wilt fret. 

And call the blissful past in vain ; 
But sighs and tears and sad regret 
Shall never, never bring again 

The days when thou wert mine. 
Dear love, and I was thine. 

Then strain me to thy heaving breast, 
And let me press my lips to thine ! 
Oh, let us guard each moment lest 
We should recall with grief ferine, 
The days w^hen thou wert mine, 
Dear love, and I Avas thine. 



Ksventy-seven 



•i 
AS OF YORE ■ 



I dream as lilies dream and sigh, 
Upon the moon illumined plain ; 

I sing as swans that sing and die, 
And think my song will still the pain. 

I pray that light again might shine 
Upon the scene of former bliss. 

When, pillowed on thy breast divine, 
I drank the nectar of thy kiss. 

My love, my love, my heart's desire, 
I long for thee, for none but thee ! 

0, come and tune the golden lyre 
To love's delightful harmony; 

And heart to heart and eyes to eyes, 
We'll live in rapture as of yore; 

The world shall be our Paradise, 
And naught shall part us evermore ! 



Seventy-eight 



''I MADE A BED OF ROSES" 

When the birds, in dawny feather, 
Softly whimper all night long, 
Then the nightingale in heather, 
Lifts his voice in tuneful song: 
I made a bed of roses, 
As none can better do; 
A nest where love reposes 
And ever longs for you. 

E'en the brooklet, gliding over 

Mossy bed beneath the lee; 

Sweetly murmurs to its lover 

As it rushes to the sea: 
I made a bed of roses. 
Of rarest scent and hue ; 
A nest where love reposes 
And ever sighs for you. 

And the forest, love's defender. 
When the leaves are dew bedight. 
Whispers gently, sweet and tender, 
With the falling of the night : 

I made a bed of roses, 

For sweethearts, good and true; 

A nest where love reposes 

And ever longs for you. 



Seventy-nine 



JUST A FLOWER 

A flow'r in a garden grew, 

Of dulcet scent and fairest hue ; 

This gentle flow 'r was for an hour 

The sweetest flow'r I ever knew. 
The little flower trusted me, 
And loved me very tenderly ; 
It wept and blushed as it was crushed, 
Yet spake no angry word to me. 

In sooth, it was a merry start — 

I gaily played the lover's part; 

Then came a day, I would away — 

Another flow 'r had won my heart. 
The pretty flow'r hung its head 
"When I farewell so lightly said ; 
It ne'er replied, nor even cried — 
Alas! the little flow'r was dead! 



Eighty 



COULD I BUT TELL 

Could I but tell what moves my soul 
When I try gracious smile behold, 

Could I but hope to reach the goal 

Where scenes of bliss their charms unfold. 

Could I but dwell with thee, my love, 

In sylvan silence far away. 
Where none but chanting birds above 

Attune to rai:)ture love's sweet lay. 

Could I but tell my heart's desire, 
The love for w^hich I strive and long ; 

I 'd string with stars a golden lyre 
To match the sweetness of my song. 



Eighty-one 



^' BONNE NUIT" ; 

(Good Night) j 

That night, dear heart, when first we met, \ 

I never can forget, Marie; ; 

When from thy lips in accents sweet, i 

I heard thy gracious "bonne nuit." j 

j 

Mine ears have heard so oft since then \ 

Its rare, bewitching melody, J 

That ev'ry zephyr breathes to me 1 

A tender, thrilling ' ' bonne nuit. ' ' | 

That night of thee, my love, I dreamed, 

Our hearts were twain in Paradise ; ', 

I heard again that ''bonne nuit," '■. 

Again I saw thy laughing eyes. j 

How oft my soul hath sought the spell | 

Thy grace and voice bestow, Marie ; ! 
Oh, let me see thee once again, 
To hear you say that * ' bonne nuit. ' ' 



Eighty-two 



REST 

Behind the crest of yonder purpling hill, 

Low sinks the splendor glowing western sun; 

The perfumed air is calm and sweetly still, 
For now the day is past and toil is done. 

Upon the breast of night, in sweet repose 

The wearied earth reclines her grateful head; 

Forgotten all her sins and griefs and woes, 
She dreams of love, and in her dream is glad. 



Eighty-three 



LA DANSE DU REVE ; 

(The Dream Dance) j 

A sprite, so light am I, me seems, \ 

When held by thee to thy dear heart ; \ 

The music weaves its air of dreams, | 

A sensous sweetness to impart. j 

I fain would ever glide with thee j 

In dance that is a dream to me. j 

i 

'Tis doubly sweet to dream and dance, ^ 

To glide, to bide in love so strong ; | 

To feel the joy thy vvords enhance, i 

And whispered as we glide along ; ; 
To float fore'er in seas of bliss, 
With thee to dance and dream and kiss. 



Eighty-four 



LOVE'S DREAM 

I dreamed I saw a. star above, 

Whose eye sent forth its lambent beams, 
That lit my heart Avith glowing love ; 

A love surpassing all my dreams, 

I rose in rapture to the sky, 

Content to leave the world below ; 

For love, I thought, was but on high, 
Where beauty stars in splendor glow. 

But love is not on yonder plane, 

The gleaming stars are mute and cold ; 

And humble hearts will seek in vain 
The love which only dreams can hold. 



Bighty-flve 



THE WORDS FROM THY LIPS | 

The sweet words thy fair lips have spoken | 

Have robbed me of peace and of sleep ; j 

Their music proclaims them a token — 

How rare is thy love and how deep ! \ 

i 

And over those dear words I ponder, ] 

I ponder by day and by night ; \ 

In darkness no more can I wander, '\ 

Yet dare not appear in the light. \ 

} 

1 will not that freedom shall find me, \ 

If by it from thee I must part; \ 

Be gracious, beloved, and bind me | 

With fetters of love to thy heart ! 



Eighty-six 



LEAVE ME NOT 

Leave me not to grief and pining, 
For I need thy sweet caress, 

As a rose the sunlight's shining, 
And the dewdrops tenderness. 
Shall thy sacred word be broken, 
When thy heart was love arrayed 

Shall life's dearest, sweetest token. 
Like a flower be decayed. 

Leave me not to pain and sorrow 

At the door of life 's delight ; 
Loneliness no joy can borrow 

From a hopeless, gloomy night. 
Leave me not ; 'tis all I 'm pleading, 

Thinking only this one thought ; 
Crying, while my heart is bleeding. 

Leave me not, oh, leave me not ! 



Eighty-seven 



THE FLOWERS' SORROW 

A flow'r complained to me one day, 

When still the dew upon her lay ; ■ 

Her sigh told more than she confessed, ] 

And pity 'rose within my breast. 

Alas! the pretty little flow'rs ; 

Too often know their sadder hours ; 

The scent that they to us impart 

Is grieving from a broken heart. j 



At morning, Avhen the sun is bright, 
The Flowers ' sorrow comes to light ; 
Deceived, they from their dreams arise, 
And teardrops sparkle in their eyes. 
Shame lends the rose a ruddy grace. 
While passion pales the lily's face. 
Alas, poor flow 'ers, they love in gloom. 
And weep at morn — yet still they bloom ! 

Oh, human heart, o, fragrant star. 
How deep and keen your suff 'rings are. 
But longing heart, fear not, nor dread. 
The gloomy hour ; for Love his head 
Shall graciously to thee incline. 
And bless thee soon with joy divine. 



Eighty-eight 



LOVE'S LULLABY 

Hush, my love, the night is falling', 

Twilight gleameth in the west, 
And the nightingale is calling 

His beloved to the nest. 
Blow-w^ee, blow-wee. 
I made a bed of fragrant rose, love, 
And pillow soft for two, love; 
A dulcet nest for true love. 
Where thou and I shall find repose, love. 
Blow-wee, blow-wee. 

See, my love, the stars are beaming 

Passion-fire in ev 'ry ray ; 
And each star is fondly dreaming 

Of a star love far away. 
Blow-wee, blow-wee. 
Ring out, sing out, the day is done, love, 
The nest is made for two, love; 
A paradise for true love 
Where thou and I shall be as one, love. 
Blow-wee, blow-wee. 

Hush, my love, and cease repining. 
Lay thy head upon my breast ; 

And thy heart to peace inclining. 

Shall be lulled to gentle rest. 

Blow-wee, blow-wee. 

Then kiss and whisper low, good night, love, 

Our cozy nest for two, love, 

Shall be a nest for true love. 

For ever light and ever bright, love. 
Blow-wee, blow-wee. 

Eighty-nine 



THE KING'S LAMENT 

Alive, no, no, I'm dead, 
My tortured soul is fled ; 
My body chilled and sore, 
Will feel her touch no more 
In love as oft before. 

What vile and traitor hand. 
By jealously unmanned, 
Destroyed my gentle queen, 
So regal in her mien. 
So saintly and serene. 

Or was it by a nod. 

Of a capricious god. 

My gladness to disperse, 

A demon so perverse 

Was sent, then him I curse. 

I curse, I curse the pow'r 
That gave me for an hour 
The most exquisite joy 
And then, as were't a toy. 
With malice to destroy. 



Ninety 



Of thousands that have sold 
Their bodies vile for gold, 
The vast and endless train, 
Of those that live in pain 
And hope they would be slain. 

Of misery's broad field 
That human thistles yield, 
And life with evil dow'r. 
He vented not his pow'r, 
But crushed my gentle flow'r. 

Is madness this, or spite, 
In horror to delight? 
Oh, ne'er will I believe. 
The reaper cuts the sheave, 
The tender plants to grieve. 

The reaper cuts to feed 
A lower kind of breed. 
And where he cuts he sows ; 
He harrows, but he knows 
The soil much richer grows. 



Ninety-one 



The plants thus cut away, 

Give seed another day; i 

But human hearts that die, 

With agonizing cry, j 

Forever buried lie. . j 

What happiness if one ' ■, 

Could die when love is done, \ 

And break life's iron band, 
Or, with a sweep of hand, \ 

Our pain to cease command. j 

But no, our mem'ries live, | 

And thousand tortures give; 
Unquenched remains desire i 

In hearts with grief on fire, ■ 

Until our souls expire. 

We're proud and potent kings, | 

When love 's sweet summons rings ; . 

The golden crowns we wear, 
Bode not a single care. 
Until there comes despair. 

We rule with gentle hand | 

This dream and flower land ; \ 

When love's sweet rose is blown, \ 

We're kings, when love is flown^ ^ 
WeVe kwgs without a throne. 



Ninety-two 



Sinmt tV ®ar 



CONSOLATION 

Not always will the Reaper mow the warring 

hords 
To satisfy the Monarchs' insane lust for crime ; 
Not always swords, in useless hate, will clash 

with swords, 
While orphans weep and hearts are sad in ev'ry 

clime ; 
And though it seems, that Fate a vent for ill 

affords. 
There shall be Peace supreme for all in God's 

own time. 



iNinety-five 



LEST WE FALL 

We raise our hands to Thee, Lord, 

In supplication for Thine aid; 

Beyond the sea a mighty horde 

A decimating war hath made, 

And terror holds our hearts in thrall — ■ 

We fear, Father, lest we fall. j 

Maintain, Lord, the work we wrought ! 

To make this nation strong and free ; j 

The Flag, for which our fathers fought, I 

And made it stand for Liberty. | 

Proclaim Thy peace beyond recall, i 

Great God of Nations, lest we fall. ^ 

Oh, help us guard the old bequest, { 

That ever made for unity ; ! 
Oh, keep the East and keep the West, 

The North and South from enmity; ^ 

Pour out Try grace upon us all, j 

We pray thee, Father, lest we fall. ' 



Nlnety-slx 



THE PATIENT TURK 

The Balkan Kings once went to work 
To war upon the Moslem Turk. 
Like ancient Spain they raised a shout 
That Christ is lost with Turks about. 
They cut his limbs with sword and prayer 
And Europe laughed at his despair. 
The Turk his hate with patience nursed 
And from his depth the Christian cursed. 

The Balkan Allies saints were thought 
Who for the good of Christ had fought; 
Until they rose in fierce demand 
And asked for seaports and for land. 
The Powers then their fiat hurled 
Into the little Balkan world. 
And with an enigmatic smile 
The Turk was cursing all the while. 

The Blackinount King, on grandeur bent, 
Up to the mountain range was sent ; 
The Servian dream of port and sea, 
An idle dream was doomed to be. 
Anon the Servian and Bulgar 
Amongst them fought a bitter war. 
The patient Turk, he raised no cry, 
But had a glitter in his eye. 



Ninety- seven 



Franz Josef soon did war declare 
When Servians slew the Hapsburg heir. 
The Serb the Russian asked for aid, 
While France an equal favor bade. 
The Russ, with fondness for intrigue, 
Against the Germans formed a league : 
The Turk, he sensed a keen delight. 
When four of them arranged to fight. 

And like a gambler, dear old France, 
With buoyant spirit, took a chance. 
She thought the moment right to gain 
Once more her Alsace and Lorraine. 
The Briton, master of the sea, 
A war declared on Germany. 
The patient Turk, he grins and notes 
How Christians cut each other's throats. 

For now the war is ev'rywhere. 

On land, at sea, and in the air. 

The Belgians at the Germans dash, 

The French with ''Blut and Eisen" clash. 

Again the Slavs and Teutons face 

With ancient hate and pride of race. 

The patient Turk, is still as night, 

Until the time is ripe to smite. 



Ninety-eight 



L 'envoi 
The Moslem hears the far-flung cry 

Of war, nor is he stirred 

As shrieks of shell are heard, 
And Death is grimly rushing by. 
He sees them devastate and kill, 

Nor shy at cruel deed; 

These cultured wolves of greed. 
Their faith forgot in wanton will. 
The patient Turk, he still can wait, 
For ev'rything must bend to Fate. 



Ninety-nine 



THE DAYS OF YORE \ 

(A Memory and a Thought) \ 

I well recall the days when I, a youth, 

My soul imbued with high desire for truth, ] 
Forsook the land and all so dear to me, 
And education sought in Germany. 
My own sad land was dark ; oppression wrought 
Distress to those who dared to speak a thought. 

Though many, like some slaves who feel their ' 

gyves, ^ I 

The press of freedom felt, their bondaged lives ] 

No means could find to rise above their fate, ! 
And mothered fear, which they conceived in hate. 

I knew not how deep their sadness went ; I 

What thoughts they had and what their actions | 

meant. j 

At times I heard how men and women spoke ] 

Of hopes to rid them of the Russian yoke. j 
I saw that Poles, like ghosts, in darkness stalked. 

While German men in light of freedom walked. \ 

And then, I felt a longing in my heart ' 

To seek a sweeter life, a nobler part : i 

I went alone to Germany; I sought ; 
The men to teach me and was gladly taught. 



One Hundred 



I deeply drank of that poetic lore 

In which the soul to matchless heights may soar ; 

I strolled in mazes of their philosophy, 

And reveled in their boding history. 

I worked with mind aflame and studied on 

With those I loved, whose hearts I, too, had won. 

The more of their unselfish life I saw, 

The more I thought of Russia's dreadful maw, 

That fed, unsated, on my people's heart 

And made poor Poland play a coward's part. 

At length — it seems a dream this life of mine— 
I sought that noble School at Bonn-am-Rhine ; 
(The School, that is for all who read and pass, 
A Literatum Universitas.) 
And there the son of ' ' Unser Fritz ' ' I saw ; 
His face was like a star, without a flaw; 
His eyes were lit in beams of changing hue, 
From steely grey to soft and pansy blue. 
His figure, slim and strong, was full of grace, 
A column fit to throne his head and face. 



One Hundred One 



I loved the youngling Prince, but from afar, 

As one may love a scintillating star. 

I saw him in his energetic walk, 

And once I heard his quick and sparkling talk. 

At this, by subtle fancy lured and caught, 

My mind revolved around one single thought : 

May not this branch of HohenzoUern tree 

Arise, some day, to set my people free ? 

May not the Lord vouchsafe him strength and 

light 
To challenge and defeat the Moscovite? 

Soon William First, before his Maker stood ; 

Him followed Kaiser Frederick the Good, 

Whose rein in tortured days away did fade, 

And he to his eternal rest was laid. 

' ' The King is dead, long live the King ! " it rang 

Through all the land. I heard it with a pang 

Of joyous hope; for William Second's trend, 

'Twas said, was not to pose as Russia 's friend. 

But years went by, and Poland 's sorry lot 

In William's onward march seemed quite forgot. 



One Hundred Two 



'Till Greed, the child of Cain, by envy sired. 
Against the Germans and their wealth conspired. 
Revived in Gallic breasts the ancient sting — 
To fan a hate is but a little thing — 
And then, the ever hungry Moscovite, 
Was urged against the Germans to unite. 
But William and his people, sword in hand, 
Arose to fend the threatened Fatherland. 
Yet floods shall never wash away the stain 
From you, who sought this cruel war for gain. 

Who thinks of little wrongs when millions fall? 
Who counts his private griefs when orphans call ? 
Who can rejoice while lovers weep forlorn 
And countless mothers in anguish mourn ? 
And you, who rose in all your soulless greed 
The flow'r of youth war's sateless maw to feed, 
How will you ever, in the Lord 's own time. 
Account for this atrocious, heinous crime ? 
How will you answer, when the blood-soaked sod 
Accuses you before the living God ? 



One Hundred Three 



For William and his people stood for peace ; j 

He even bade domestic quarrels cease, I 

As would a father, when his sons are young, ; 

Instruct them, that united they are strong. \ 

He knew, you envied him his nation's wealth, 1 

And freely built his power, not by stealth. j 

To me, he is a man of endless ruth, \ 

A Prince, who fights for justice and for truth. : 

God bless you, William, Hero, Man and King! j 
May God thy people peace and gladness bring ! 



One Hundied Four 1 

i 



THE ANGELS OF RED CROSS 
(Dedicated to Them) 

Salute, Red Cross, the noble band, 

Who labor without price; 
Who go from home to foreign land, 

In their self-sacrifice. 
Nor fear exploding shells that kill, 

And swiftly speeding lead, 
That soon the woods and meadows fill 

With wounded and the dead. 

And as they work, with love untold, 

Or close a glazing eye, 
Death 's agonies no terrors hold 

With Angels standing by. 
They Angels are to friend and foe, 

With sympathy to loss; 
God bless and ever keep them so, 

The Angels of Red Cross. 



One Hundred Five 



JptarpUan^ 



THE WISDOM OF MIRZA-SHAFFY 

(Bodenstedt) 

I. 

While trav'ling, Mirza-Shaffy to a rich man came, 
And greeting, as befits a host, addressed the 

same: 
''I'd tarry, friend, and be j^our guest a day or 

two, 
To while away the time in pleasant talk with you. 
Prepare a feast and summon all your dearest 

friends ; 
For sriendship to my wit a double sparkle 

lends". 
''I have no friends," in sullen tones the man 

replied. 
At this the Poet gazed at him quite horriiied. 
''No friends at all," he said. "Then must I go, 

nor wait 
A single moment more in your abode of hate. 
A man is surely cursed, if he so meanly lives, 
That e'en his wealth no semblance of a friend 

him gives. 
Your house I leave, and shake the dust from off 

my foot. 
Nor deem you worthy e'en the sound of my 

salute : 
To whom the gracious God a single friend denies. 
Then him does Mirza-Shaffy thoroughly despise." 



On© Hundred Nln« 



II. 

TOLERANCE 

A happy man is good and clean, 
For others' gladness makes him glad; 
A wretched man is bad and mean, 
For others' gladness makes him sad. 

Oh, you, who in your pious wrath. 
Hate all who from your way dissent, 
You find but sorrow on your path : 
Your hatred is your punishment. 



One Hundred Ten 



III. 

GOOD CHOICE 

Better stars without a gleam, 
Than a gleam without the star 
Better nuts without the shell, 
Than a shell and kernels far ; 
Better gold without a bag. 
Than a bag without the gold: 
Better wine without a flask. 
Than a flask sans wine to hold. 



One Hundred Eleven 



IV. 

TRUTH 

He who loves the truth had best 
Quick his horse 's bridle take ; 
He who thinks the truth had best 
Firm his foot in stirrup make ; 
He who speaks the truth had best 
With a pair of wings awake ! 
Mirza-Shaffy holds withal : 
He who lies, his jaws should break. 



One Hundred Twelv# 



V. 

DISPENSATION 

A new commandment is this day 
By Mirza-Shaffy given : 
No one on earth henceforward may 
By indigence be driven. 

Where love, with youthful lips begins, 
In sweeter sin has ended — 
All melancholy kissing sins, 
Are now hereby suspended. 

The sapless kiss a sinner gave 
Shall be a snake that hisses; 
Until his sins away he lave 
In floods of burning kisses. 



One Hundred Thirteen 



VI 

WISDOM 

"When I in wisdom tried to rise, 
I found, that as a rule, 
A wise man never is so wise 
As thinks himself the fool. 



VII. 

MODERATION 

Enjoy the scent the roses give, 
Nor break their hearts in twain ; 
If you inhale and let them live, 
No thorn will cause you pain. 



One Hundred Fourteen 



VIII. 

CONCERNING WIT 

A good wit should always be 
Without the least resistance; 
Is not its own poesy 
To go into the distance. 



IX. 

BREVITY 

The best wit is ever 
Brilliant, quick and short, 
And is for the clever 
Literary sport. 



One Hundred Fifteen 



X. 

WIT AND VERSE 

A wit, like tongues of snakes, is jerked out, 

Quickly, darting and pointed ; 
A verse, like all of art, is worked out, 

Measured, polished and jointed. 



XL \ 

J 
EQUALITY ; 

In vain attacks the lower man i 

His vastly nobler brother; ] 

A real diamond only can ] 

Give polish to another. J 



One Hundred Sixteen 



XII. 

THE PUTAIVE POET 

The man who can't create his songs 
From what, in life, he sees and feels, 
To yonder brainless mass belongs 
To whom his brainless song appeals. 



One Hundred Seventeen 



XIII. 

THE TRUE POET 

The man whose sight in proper place is, 
Whose thought finds speech that full of grace is, 
To form a clear and rhythmic whole, 
He holds the key, that like a mace is 
Of power to unlock the places. 
That lead us to the promised goal. 



One Hundred Eighteen i 

i 

\ 

i 



XIV 

HYPOCRITES 

You pray for Heaven's graces, 
You rant in pious strains; 
Yet hate distorts your faces 
And poison swells your veins. 

In intimate relation 
You claim with God to stand, 
And preach the world's salvation 
With threat 'ning sword in hand. 

But men as you your way tread 
Abhors the Lord above ; 
Ungodly is all hatred, 
Divine alone is love. 



One Hundred Nineteen 



XV 

REWARD 

A happy man will gladly give 
Of joy to those who crave it; 
For joy comes always back to him 
Who full and freely gave it. 



One Hundred Twenty 



XVI 

FUTURE PLEASURES 

We must the Prophet's word believe, 
That all the good and truly wise 
The rarest pleasures shall receive 
In Allah's golden Paradise. 

And yet if one expects to share 
In joys that are the very best, 
One ought himself on earth prepare 
And put the pleasures to the test. 

A man would know in some sort well 
The pleasures once he hopes to get; 
If none there be (and who can tell?) 
He'd have, at least, no deep regret. 



One Hundred Twenty-one j 



KING SOLOMON AND THE BIRD 

King Solomon, one day, overheard 
The boastings of a singing bird, 
And was chagrined, yet half amused, 
To hear his matchless works abused. 
' ' This temple, ' ' said the bird, ' ' isn 't worth 
A bird's nest made within the earth. 
His palace, famed in ev'ry land. 
That could, he thinks, a siege withstand, 
My left foot, with a single thrust, 
Could make it crumble into dust." 
At this the Monarch's anger flared. 
He called the bird such words had dared, 
And said: ''You boast; but I consent. 
Destroy, or take your punishment." 
''If you are famed," the bird replied, 
"For wisdom, then that fame has lied. 
I boasted, but within my nest ; 
A man's dominion needs some zest. 
He's knocked about so much in life, 
May not he boast before his wife?" 
He trilled, then quick away he ran, 
But Solomon was a wiser man. 



One Hundred Twenty-two 



THE PASSPORT 

(A Russian Border Episode) 

Our train had neared the line. A soldier called, 
''Pashport! Passport!" At this I was appalled; 
I had no passport, that ungodly writ, 
Which one must carry like a slave's perfit. 
And as the soldier looked around and called 

aloud, 
There was a quick compliance by the crowd; 
For else, not one who travelled in the train, 
Could pass the border to the Czar's domain. 
"Pashport!" As I alone no passport showed, 
The Russian's little eyes with malice glowed. 
Like points of flame, they seemed to pierce me 

thru 
With keen, malign intent, as if he knew ; 
As if he knew, and soon would grimly stretch 
His claw-like hand to grasp the daring wretch. 



One Hundred Twenty-three 



You ask wherefore I came ? An impulse brisk \ 

Had moved me on. I thought it worth the risk \ 

To greet old friends, and also, with bowed head, i 

Abide at hallowed graves of my dear dead. ' 

But I, a Pole, without the Czar's consent 
Had gone, and now must suffer punishment. | 

'Tis Russian law, and this infernal law I 

Would crush me and engulf me in its maw ! 

My body shook with enervating chill, 1 

My heart declined with agonizing thrill ; \ 

Against each other, like dry castanets, ] 

My teeth did click ; forsooth, 'tis fear that lets { 

The heart 's blood drop by drop deplete our life ; 
For hope gives strength as does heroic strife. 



One Hundred Twenty-four 



Anon, the soldier, with a beastly snort, 
Approached and grimly called, ''Davvay Pash- 

port!" 
At this the light of day dissolved in gloom, 
"Whence rose the grinning ghosts of blackest 

doom. 
I saw myself within the Russian grip, 
A thing of trembling clay and white of lip. 
I smelt the foulness of the prison cell. 
Before they sent me to that frozen Hell, 
Where unto death the soul in anguish pines, 
The God-accursed and dreadful Kara mines. 
Where Russian guards with Hell's abandon 

port!"* 
And fray the flesh of convicts with the knout. 
T felt the monster's touch; his rav'ning breath 
Befouled me, and I died a tenfold death. 



Give passport. 



One Hundred Twenty-flve 



And then, the wall of gloom was rent in twain ; 
I saw a light of hope and life again. 
Revealed within my soul there was to me, 
That Courage mated is with Liberty. 
American was I! I was this, both, 
By ardent love and by my solemn oath ; 
Entwined as one with all the strong and free: 
No man who lives needs more than that to be; 
None, too, who keenly loves the star-striped flag, 
Will let his wit behind his courage lag ; 
He knows the meaning of ''In God We Trust," 
And spends his substance wisely when he must, 
In time of stress, to some such means resort 
With one who fiercely calls, ' ' Davvay Pashport ! ' ' 



One Hundred Twenty-six 



''Pashport!" He said it with the air of one 
Who masks his ire. I searched. "My pass is 

gone," 
I said, and tried the matter to explain, 
Although I knew that all would be in vain. 
At all events, 'twas wiser to impress 
Him with my station than with my distress. 
''I am a rich American," I said, 
And showed a letter; but he shook his head. 
He wished to see the Eagle and the Seal 
On U. S. paper, clear and full and real. 
' ' Pashport ? ' ' There was a question in the sound, 
To which I quick the saving answer found. 
''My friend," said I; "an Eagle you'd behold, 
What say you then to one that 's made of gold ? ' ' 



One Hundred Twenty-seven 



A bribe, you say ? You fancy he was riled, 
When forth I held my open palm and smiled? 
Not so. His eyes enlarged, his face grew calm ; 
He smiled, and took the Eagle from my palm. 
The feel of gold was like old wine to him ; 
It warmed his heart, nor was his face so grim. 
He sighed as one who is completely fed, 
And handed me a booklet which I read. 
It was a local pass — a neat devise — 
Whenever cases such as these arise. 
His voice, before so raucous in command, 
Was soft, his eye was sly, his smile was bland. 
The Bear became a brother, if you please, 
And passed me through with quickness and with 
ease. 



One Hundred Twenty- eight 



